Mutant Graveyard: Prequel
by MillieKittan
Summary: Fang's story behind his life in Rapture and how he ended up there. M for violence and gross-ness.
1. A History

_Good afternoon._

_So here is the first installment of Fang's story, setting up some back story and providing an explanation of the different splicer types that have been covered in the original document. Note that while some resemble the types seen in the games, going on the idea that splicers degenerate over time has lead to the new ones._

_Anyway, this will update once a week. Once complete, Mutant Graveyard will restart and update once a week. Enjoy._

**Chapter 1: A History**

Despite the fact that Jeb had promised him an upgrade to a large dog crate almost a fortnight ago, Fang still resided within a medium sized one. As such he was forced to slouch against the bars behind him so his head had enough room, and compensate for this slouching by holding his knees to his chest.

At five foot four inches, the nine year old was much taller than average for his age, but this was probably the least interesting thing about the boy. Beneath his otherwise normal if not unusually thin exterior, the preteen was unusually strong due to increased muscle mass and outer bone thickness, unusually light due to the latticed nature of the insides of his bones that mimicked that of a bird, and could devour a staggering 4000 calories a day without gaining a single pound.

But what was truly startling about the boy was none of this data; tucked on either side of his spine and only just visible through the rough slits in his grey shirt were the tips of a pair of midnight-black wings. With a span of ten feet and still growing, simply releasing them required more space than he was usually ever confronted with in the narrow corridors and small square rooms of the School.

Fang had lived in this room for his entire life, at least what he could remember of it. He supposed that as a baby he may have been afforded something other than a dog crate, but his earliest memory consisted of a four-year-old version of himself reaching out through the bars for a present Jeb was giving him; a candy bar. It had been his birthday.

It was just months after this gesture that Jeb stopped being his primary carer. From then on, young Fang was subjected to the indifference of laboratory assistants, the carelessness of shift runners that forgot to feed him and the brutality of Erasers tasked with holding him down for blood tests day after day.

Almost two year passed before he saw Jeb again, and then only for a minute. He'd come in to check on a recent experiment that was obviously dying, a failure of the fusion of human child and chameleon, that was placed three crates away from Fang's own. Without even glancing at the familiar dog crate he'd moved to leave, returning only when Fang called out to him; this was the man who had cared for him when he was sick, sung him to sleep as a kid when he'd been upset by an experiment, his Father figure.

Jeb knelt down to look into the lad's crate, the smile on his lips oddly false, as it had been the entirety of the time Fang had known him. "How's it going, Champ?" He asked, his tone as calm and collected like he hadn't just been about to ignore the child.

"My crate is too small," the preteen replied, closing his fists around the bars separating them. He'd just wanted Jeb to come and say hello to him, as he had done daily before his sudden disappearance, and hadn't planned anything to say once he did come over. But the statement was true; at six years old he had outgrown the small dog crate he'd had all this living memory a few months before.

The man nodded sincerely. "I'll fix that for you, Fang." He added before standing up, striding from the room without a farewell. The child sat back in his crate, feeling defeated but unsure where the feeling stemmed from.

Jeb no longer cared; this was the conclusion he came to.

A few days later he was transferred to a larger crate after his daily tests and exercise, but when Jeb failed to show for a further three months Fang decided that he'd had enough of being silent and compliant. He spent the nights awake and staring at the opposite wall, planning an escape.

Before Jeb had abandoned him to the other lab assistants, Fang had always been co-operative, especially when Jeb himself had come to escort him. He would leave his crate with the least of fuss and follow whoever it was silently down the hallway, ignoring the sniggering of the pair of Eraser guards that had to accompany them by School policy.

This time, when the assistant opened his crate, Fang came out fighting.

His fist connected with the scientist's nose, forcing the man back into the Erasers as a burst of blood escaped from his left nostril. Utilising the small window of opportunity this gave him, Fang snatched the key card from the man's belt and made a bee-line for the door.

He'd just managed to scan the card when one of the Erasers was on him, holding so tightly that claws dug in his shoulder and drew small pinpricks of blood. The Eraser spun him on the spot and pinned the boy to the wall, his foul warm breath causing Fang to crease up his nose in disgust.

"Where do you think you're going, little piggy?" The half-wolf man asked, tightening his grip on the boy's shoulder and bringing the other hand up to hold his throat. The boy struggled in his grasp, but as strong as he was, a full-grown Eraser was simply too much stronger. Fang could feel his heart pounding in his neck as the hand closed around his windpipe.

The Eraser sneered. "Such a weak little piggy."

Folding his knees to his chest, Fang planted his feet firmly on the Eraser's chest and kicked out with all his might. Taken by surprise and the wind knocked out of him, the Eraser fell to the floor with a grunt, his claws leaving thin gashes along the length of the preteen's neck, who deftly landed on his feet and sprinted from the room.

Having never seen an Eraser in action before, it was a surprise to Fang to learn that they could easily outpace a grown adult, let alone an enhanced six year old kid. Before he knew what had happened, he had been slammed into the nearest wall then hoisted into the air by the second Eraser, a clawed hand fastened securely around his neck and cutting off his windpipe. Clawing at the hand seemed futile, and just as he thought he was about to pass out or die he was dropped abruptly to the floor.

"He's worth millions of dollars," he could hear a voice saying sternly, though he was too busy coughing and sucking in breaths to pay closer attention. "You damage him and it won't just be him that's put out of commission."

The Eraser grunted before dragging the kid back to his feet, pinning his arms behind him. Struggling in the Eraser's hold as he was dragged down the corridor towards his first trial of the day, he heard the scientist with the bloody nose mutter in bewilderment.

"But he was so well behaved yesterday."

Since then Fang had refused to go to any tests quietly. The last three years had been an interwoven mesh of struggling, sharp cuffs about the head from Erasers and, when he'd been able to injure one of the white coats, days without food or water despite the continuation of the tests.

Throughout this time Jeb only came to visit him three times; never on his birthday but always after a serious incident, such as the scientist he'd put in a coma for two weeks by roundhouse kicking him to the skull. Every time Jeb simply asked by he did it, and Fang would remain silent, staring at the wall past him until he shook his head and left.

Sat in his medium dog crate with his eyes closed, Fang pondered how long he would be denied food and water this time. During the previous day's blood tests, the most common time he acted out due to a hatred of needles that bordered on hysteria when they were in close contact with his skin, he had accidentally impaled the white coat's left eye with a needle meant to collect a blood sample. Incidents like this were becoming more common now he was getting stronger; it had recently been decided that he needed three erasers minimum to escort him anywhere, and there had only been two in the tiny blood room.

He hadn't meant to stab the man in the eye, but these things happened when you tested a needle phobic's resolve ten times every day.

He wondered how long it would be before Jeb came to look at him disappointedly again, and how long the man would stay. He wondered if he would ever figure out that he was the cause of the bad behaviour. Finally, he wondered what could possibly be taking up so much of Jeb's time that he couldn't be his carer anymore.

A gentle swish told Fang the doors had opened, but he didn't open his eyes, sure that it was Jeb coming to try and make him feel bad about what he'd done. It was only when the overly-familiar stagnant scent of an Eraser's breath wafted up his nostrils that he angled his head down and opened his eyes.

An Eraser had his face right up against the bars of the crate, a claw hooked around one of the bars and a sneer plastered across his face. "Guess what, little piggy." His warm, foul breath filled the entirety of Fang's crate, but he resisted outwardly gagging in front of the moron. After a few moments silence, the Eraser continued undeterred. "You're going for the long walk, Fangy. Expensive or not, they don't want you anymore."

With that his crate was pulled open, and Fang was pulled out by the ankles, banging his head on the edge of the crate on his way down to the floor. Slightly disoriented, he put up little fight as two Erasers hoisted him to his feet and pinned an arm each behind the preteen's back. A single finger slips under his chin and draws his focus up, past the white lab coat to a familiar face, a glass eye where a real one resided the day before.

The smirk on the scientist's face was almost painful to look at. "Congratulations," the man sneered inches from Fang's face. "You're the first experiment stupid enough to get themselves decommissioned. Enjoy your death, Fang."

Fang spat in the man's good eye, gracing him with a smirk of his own before the Erasers began hauling him away.


	2. Decommissioning

_Hello!_

_So I've been writing so much on this story recently - just finishing up Chapter 7 now - that I thought I'd give you a second chapter this week. It's one of two mini-chapters that I felt needed to be put in for the sake of understanding Fang's mental processes, so I may double-update next week too until the real chapters start._

_Enjoy. x_

**Chapter 2: Decommissioning**

The smirk melted right off his face when he was hauled into the hallway, finding himself face-to-face with two more looking far too smug for his liking. Now he wasn't a valuable commodity to the School, the first thing one of these Erasers did was punch the bird kid squarely in the stomach. Fang found himself sagging in the arms of his escorts in pain, as close as they would allow him to curling up into a ball.

"Playing with this one would have been fun," the Eraser grunted as Fang regained his composure, letting the feeling of nausea the impact created slide away. Around him the other Erasers agreed, hauling him back upright and tightening the preteen's arms behind his back until his shoulders began to prickle with pain. The statement made him wonder if decommissioning was usually a trip to the exercise yard - a place he hadn't seen since he was four when Jeb taught him to fly – to be torn to pieces by Erasers.

_If so, where am I going?_ He asked himself.

His bare toes clipping the floor, Fang was forced to stumble along with the group of Erasers as they dragged him through a series of winding corridors. Every attempt he made to wrench his arms from their grip resulted in a clawed swipe across his face, or a sharp kick to the back of his knees to make him stumble, followed by a retightening of his arms until he was sure one would soon pop out of its socket.

Eventually they turned another corner and came face to face with a lift; they were so far from his crate he recognised nothing. Even the walls were a different colour on this side of the School, painted a soft magnolia instead of stark white.

The lift doors opened, and he was greeted with a small, white box-shaped space, much like an enlarged dog crate but without the bars. A small part of him panicked upon noticing there were no windows set into the room either, and when the erasers behind him attempted to drag him inside Fang dug his heels into the floor with everything he had.

"Afraid of a little tin box, bird boy?" The Eraser on his left asked, hoisting him painfully from the ground by his twisted arm. "This is nothing compared to where you're going."

Without really thinking, Fang smashed his head backwards, feeling the back of his skull collide with the Eraser's forehead. The monster stumbled, letting go of his arm, allowing Fang to spin on the spot and aim a fist at the eye of the Eraser on his right. It connected with a sickening crack, the force of the blow snapping the Eraser's cheekbone, and the creature fell back howling with pain.

A sharp kick to the back of his leg and Fang fell to one knee. Before he could react, something struck him hard in the cheek, sending him sprawling onto his side. Instantly a pair of hands was pulling him roughly to his feet. His face burned where a bruise was now blossoming, and his legs felt weak and shaky from both the previous impact and the adrenaline flooding his system. It was at this moment, as he was being dragged into the lift backwards, that he looked up.

There, standing just twelve feet away, was Jeb. And he looked horrified.

He struggled against the arms hauling him into the lift. "Jeb-"A cuff to the face silenced his shout, the clawed hand digging into the flesh on his forehead. A thin trickle of blood began to weave down the contours of his face, and it wasn't until he looked up a second time that he realised there was a young girl standing there too, a similar expression of horror on her face. She was tall and thin, with a wave of sun-kissed brown hair falling to her shoulders and light brown eyes that were wide in shock. She wore exactly the same clothes as he did - a grey smock over sweatpants of the same colour – and like him did not possess shoes.

"I didn't authorise this." Fang finally tuned into the conversation taking place beside him, and was surprised to hear the ever ice-cool Jeb raising his voice. A glance showed his face to be flushed a deep red, and his usual cold smile was straightened into a tight-lipped seriousness.

One of the Erasers flipped Fang around and shoved him into the lift, right into the arms of two Erasers already poised to catch and restrain him. "Doesn't matter, old timer." The Eraser's voice was scratchy. "You removed him from your charge years ago. His decommissioning is up to his carers, and they all agreed – he's too much hassle."

Fang was turned around in time to see Jeb sending him a look, but could not determine what the emotion attached to it was. His former carer stormed away just as the lift doors were closing, and Fang got one last glimpse of the girl as Jeb took her hand and began to march her down the corridor. She took a single glance back at him.

Then the lift doors closed, and Fang's life at the School was over.


	3. Transit

_Hey all._

_This will be a two-update week as well, considering how short this chapter is. Stay tuned - the next chapter introduced Rapture and get's Fang's side of the story underway. =]_

**Chapter 3: Transit**

The first thing Fang was aware of when he woke up was that he didn't remember falling asleep, followed closely by the pounding in his head that indicated he didn't fall asleep of his own accord. A tentative touch to his forehead revealed a swelling he assumed to be going a nice shade of purple. Then the floor lurched, and Fang became acutely aware of the fact that he was no longer in the School.

Sitting up straight, he felt his head skim the top of his new cage; taller but slimmer than the one he was used to, stacked next to two others with one side smelted to the sides of the vehicle. Windows set into the back doors beyond his cage showed thick darkness, suggesting the time to be about midnight.

As he tried to prop himself against the back of the cage, he realised his arms had been bound behind his back. Using the wall as leverage, he struggled to pull himself up against the back of the cage and rested his aching head against the cold metal, trying but failing to remember when he'd been knocked out. His last memory was still of Jeb dragging the girl away with him down the corridor, his anger evident in every step.

Was that why he'd stopped being his carer? He'd had a daughter?

That didn't make much sense; if she wasn't a hybrid like himself, that would have made her younger than him to coincide with his disappearance. Admittedly he didn't see Jeb every waking moment of the day but he was there for all the tests, which lasted a goof four hours a day. She looked to be older than him, but if she were a hybrid too her looks could mean very little.

The vehicle lurched again, jogging his head against the metal. The dull laugh of Erasers wafted to his ears from the cabin in front. Fang took a steadying breath and stared out into the blackness, not for the first time wondering where they were taking him. The most any white coats had said about decommissioning was that it was the worst thing that could happen to an experiment, but the Erasers had spoken like he was getting special treatment.

The van swerved sharply to the right, throwing his head into the bars, before coming to a sudden halt that almost threw him forwards onto his chest. The engine cut and doors slammed. Laughter moved around the vehicle towards the back doors, and Fang found himself unconsciously using his legs to push as far back against the bars as possible, as if he could melt into the metal and be ignored.

Instead the doors flew open, and the harsh white light of a torch fell directly on his face, forcing the preteen to squint and tilt his head away. "Awake, piggy?" An Eraser growled, grabbing a hold of one of his ankles, preparing to pull him from the van. Fang could almost hear the smirk in his voice, and attempted to pull his ankle free. The Eraser's grip simply tightened. "We'll give you a nice heavy dose of sedatives before we send you on your way. We wouldn't want you getting bored on your trip."

With that Fang was yanked from the van. With his better-than-average vision he could make out the shapes Erasers surrounding him in the pitch-black, and could hear what he thought could be waves. Then a needle slipped beneath the skin of his neck, and everything went black.


	4. Disoriented

_Hey look, a reasonable length update (2,400 words). Isn't that wonderful._

_Also, welcome to Rapture. Here's to new 'friendships'._

**Chapter 4: Disoriented**

At first the gentle humming of the vehicle convinced Fang he was back in the van, and while this made little sense his fuzzy brain refused to let him think about it. He lay on his front with his limbs splayed haphazardly around him, his now-healed cheek chilled from the cold metal he was lying against. He could feel the vehicle maneuvering but his eyes could not open, the neon green lighting blinding his brain with pain whenever they opened a slit.

The humming beneath his skin stopped. Almost immediately afterwards hinges creaked into life, the sound searing through his already-aching head. His eyes still closed, Fang levered himself to his knees, vaguely noticing that his hands were no longer bound. The green light flickered and died as the vehicle shut down, leaving the preteen in darkness.

Finally prizing his eyes open, Fang remained on all fours while he squinted into the black surroundings. He seemed to be in a small, circular pod a bit like a submarine, and could pick out the outline of a chair close by. Fighting through the fuzz around the edges of his brain, Fang took a hold of the chair in both hands and hauled himself to his feet, his legs feeling like jelly.

_What the hell did they give me? _Was the first coherent thought to cross his mind.

Beyond the chair was a dashboard covered in buttons, though they were all as dark and lifeless as the sub itself. Still gripping the chair, he was about to reach over and attempt to press some buttons to restart the pod when the door at the rear creaked and began to open slowly, a wave of orange light following the door as it made slow progress.

He squinted into the light, raising a hand to shield his eyes despite the shake in his legs. The musty smell of the sub finally registered to his senses, and for the first time his mind was clear enough to wonder where he was. His head thumping in rhythm with his heart, Fang took a step towards the opening door, curiosity over-ruling any uncertainty.

As his eyes adjusted to the orange light in the new room, he noticed that the lighting was actually very dim; large sections of the room remained in gloom despite the number of lights, and a few flickered on and off at inconsistent intervals. Finally feeling stable enough to let go of the chair, he took another step towards the room, resting a hand on the edge of the now open airlock.

It was at this point new smells assaulted his senses; a musty damp smell, mixed with the stale smell of urine, the irony tang of decay and the stink of faeces. Having grown up in the School surrounded by these smells, Fang could normally have stomached them and moved on.

But he was still recovering from heavy sedation. So instead, he vomited.

Once his chest was no longer heaving, Fang spat a mouthful of foul-tasting saliva on the floor, his eyes closed and an arm rested on the airlock for support. He couldn't remember the last time he'd physically been sick – he must have been a toddler – but he sure as hell didn't want to do that again anytime soon.

"Such a handsome boy," a high, wavering voice broke the silence. Fang snapped his head up in surprise, but there were no shapes in the gloom. For a moment he wondered if he'd imagined the voice, if he was going mad already, when what looked like a cloud of red dust flew across the room and suddenly formed a human shape barely an inch from him.

The surprise caused the preteen to stumble; he took a step backwards and fell over the edge of the sub's airlock, landing with a dull thud on the metal floor behind him, legs splayed over the lip. Not only had something just appeared from nowhere, but it smelled atrocious, and the way it was studying him made him nervous.

The creature appeared to be female, based on her attire; a white calf-length dress torn and ripped in various placed, drowned in stains varying from almost black to a fresh blood-red, the iron-scented nature of which left no doubt in Fang's mind that it certainly was blood.

She tilted her wicker-masked face to the side, a slight twitch in her neck, before bending over and running a dirty hand over the boy's face. Her movements were swift and snake-like, almost enchanting to behind. The boy didn't move, somewhere between fear and curiosity, his mouth slightly open as her fingers traced his jawline. "My Simon was this handsome," she continued, her voice high and sorrowful. "But I was right. Yes. I was right. He made such a wonderful barbecue."

Her other hand spontaneously burst into flame, and Fang finally moved.

Planting his feet squarely in her chest, he kicked out with all his might, sending the women screaming in an arch across the room. She threw the fireball with an angered yell, but Fang rolled out of the way, hearing the cold metal of the sub sizzle where his head had been moments before as he scrambled to his feet.

Still pressed up against the wall of the docking bay, Fang scoured the shadows for the woman with his raptor vision, but again he could see no-one. His heart in his throat, he turned his attention to the debris on the floor, searching for anything useful; a hiding place, a weapon, some painkillers to settle the thumping in his head would have been nice too.

Then there was a cackle of laughter and, looking up, Fang was an oddly organised cloud of dust flying straight for him. Making a split-second decision he sprinted for an overturned table, for all the good an already-charred piece of wood would do against fireballs, and ducked behind it.

Somewhere beyond his hiding place, the creature whimpered. "Where did we go wrong, Simon?" The voice was sorrowful, almost human, but tainted with a hint of insanity, the high wavering voice mimicking that of a lost child. "Can you hear the music?" She asked into a room silent except for Fang's heavy breaths. "We could dance, you and I. Dance into the moonlight."

His back up against the overturned table, Fang's eyes finally fell on something useful; a splintered piece of wood as long as his forearm, charred but still solid. He lurched from his hiding place to snatch it without thinking, feeling instantly more secure now he had a weapon in his grasp.

Then the woman materialised inches in front of him again, bent over him as if curious, a foot firmly planted on the weapon he had revealed himself to grab. He gave it a tug, but his strength was absent without leave; it moved half an inch under her weight before his drugged body lost momentum. "You naughty boy," she berated him, swaying a finger as if he were a naughty child. Her other hand caught on fire again, so close it singed his eyebrows. "Now stay still."

**Bang**

Blood peppered Fang's upturned face. The woman swayed, her eyes rolling up to glance at the hole in her forehead. A tiny trickle of blood began to meander down her brow before the flame on her hand extinguished, and she fell to the ground, her body falling as if made of gelatine.

It was at this point Fang realised how heavily he was breathing, his chest heaving under his shirt, but he could not compel himself to take control of it. He just lay there, staring at the corpse, his hand still lightly grasping the wooden stake despite the slight shake that had begun flowing through his fingers and his eyes wide.

_What the fuck is going on? _The thought was more of a scream, his mind in turmoil. His mind decided now was a good time to begin to clear, allowing to comprehend the dead body before him with his full processing power.

When a shadow fell across him a minute or so later, the preteen flicked his head around so sharply to look at the newcomer it made the muscles in his neck ache. What he saw did little to lower his adrenaline levels.

The man holding the gun was grotesque; it was the only description that came to Fang's mind. He was at least six and a half feet tall, possibly more, with soft downy blonde hairs covering all of the body that was exposed, including his arms and face. His features looked male, but they were distorted, as if instead of growing up a child's face had been stretched across a man's proportions. The fingers of the hand holding a pistol possessed half-inch claws.

After a fire-throwing woman, a wolf-man seemed tame to Fang. Without looking away from the man he scrambled about for the wooden stake before holding it aloft in both hands before him, setting his face as impassively as possible and hoping his eyes had finally returned to their normal size.

To both his annoyance and his surprise, the man didn't seem to take this threat seriously; he glanced from the stake to the child holding it, then simply walked around them as he tucked his gun back in his belt. Fang followed him by swivelling on his backside, weapon still raised in the man's direction, as he made his way around the preteen and knelt down next to the dead woman.

Then, he began to go through her pockets. While Fang slowly lowered the wooden pole back to the floor he extracted a prep bar and a med kit, which he stuffed into the pockets of his worn jeans, then stood back up. Without a backwards glance at the kid, he moved to leave the room, as casual as if he were about to go out for dinner on a Friday night.

"Wait," Fang shouted after the man, and when that elicited no response he scrambled to his feet and ran after him, bare feet splashing in God-only-knows what as he closed the distance between them. Even then he didn't response but kept walking, pausing only to begin forcing a large metal wheel on a door open.

Stopping next to him, Fang glanced back at the now motionless woman. "Was she even human?" The question wasn't really aimed at anyone, but he felt the man shrug while he hauled the metal wheel around, hearing the grinding of metal on rust. He looked back at the man as he pulled the door open and stepped through. With nowhere else to go, Fang slipped through with him. "Are there more of them? Where are we?"

With that the man rounded on Fang, a hand splayed and aimed for his throat. Ducking, the preteen landed on all fours with his hands splayed, rebalancing his weight before rotating to swipe his legs through those of the wolf-man. The man saw it coming, jumping over the assault, which gave Fang time to roll to the side and regain his feet, a leg set forwards and one set back in the fighting stance he'd learned during Combat Experiments.

The man pivoted on his feet to face him, his fists raised to his chest, but upon seeing the kid in a combat pose he seemed to relax a little, the fists falling to waist-height as he eyes Fang up. Finally, he dropped his hands to his sides, relaxing his fingers, but not closing the distance between them. "How old are you, kid?"

"Fifteen," Fang lied using the age he'd heard the white coats using when discussing his development, still holding his fighting stance despite his opponent's relaxed pose. He ignored the pounding in his ears that signified his headache was still hanging on, even if he felt better elsewhere.

The distorted man seemed to ponder this for a minute. "Where were those moves when the splicer was taking you down?"

_Splicer? _He wondered, coming to the conclusion he meant the deranged woman from the room before. "I'd just woken up," he decided to be truthful this time, given it was the most reasonable explanation for his physical dullness. "I was drugged. It had only just begun to wear off."

He seems to process this information too before closing the distance between them, clapping a hand on Fang's shoulder and spinning him to face the door on the opposite side of the room. "Do you even know where you _are_?" He asked, his gruff voice smelling vaguely of mint, as if he hadn't brushed his teeth for years then ate a tic-tac to cover it.

When the preteen shook his head, a grin spread across the man's face that Fang immediately didn't trust, though he couldn't place if it was the nature of the grin or the distortion of the face that made it so. "Well then," the man added, tightening his hand on Fang's shoulder until his claws dug into the cloth of his shirt. "You stick with me kid, and I'll teach you _everything_ you need to know about surviving here. But after I'll need a favour from you, got it?"

Fang glanced down at the floor, considering his options. Given his first encounter with a 'splicer', as this guy called them, if he tried to go solo he would probably end up dead in a matter of days even if his mind were fully functional. The idea of owing this stranger something didn't appeal to him either, but at least he would remain alive long enough to learn what he needed to know. After that, he could ditch the mutant, go solo and hope for the best.

He looked back up at the man, his face still set impassive. "You got a deal. And it's Fang, not kid."

The mutant's smile grew wider, and possibly crueler, but his claws removed themselves from the boy's shirt so the man could give him a playful slap on the back. "That's the spirit, kid. Oh sorry, Fang." He held out a hand to shake with the preteen, the grin never sliding from his face as they sealed the deal.

"You can call me Ari."


	5. Education

**Chapter 5: Educaucation**

Over the next six months, Ari kept his promise; whenever they came across a Splicer the pair would hang back so Ari could explain the creature, allowing Fang develop a fight plan before taking it on. Every time Ari stood on the sidelines and shouted reminders if he struggled, which suited Fang fine. He wanted to work with the mutant as little as possible - something about him set the preteen on edge.

Another thing that he found weird was the lack of splicers they came across. Initially, Ari had told the boy that the place was heaving with splicers, thousands of people who had used too much ADAM – a substance that altered your DNA – to use too many Plasmids, which allowed the development of powers such as the fireball ability of the first splicer he met.

Using too much made your DNA crumble, followed closely by your insanity.

While they made their way through Rapture they came across very few splicers, more so now but definitely only one every few days at the beginning. They'd spent the first few months just traipsing from room to room and searching dead bodies for leftover ADAM, Ari claiming that it was his job to remove ADAM from the streets for his employer, an investor who wanted the complex cleared of splicers so he could transform it into an underwater prison.

Fang had raised an eyebrow. Although he had seen multiple puddles around the place, he assumed the water system was old and in poor condition. They'd yet to leave rooms with solid ceilings and while he had wondered about the lack of windows, he had disregarded the concern in favour of learning to survive.

It was the following day they had finally used one of the glass tunnels that connected each different metal complex, and Fang couldn't help but pause and stare out into the ocean beyond. Ari assured him they were on the seabed as he watched a giant squid float lazily over them before producing a massive surge of energy from its tentacles, propelling itself away and out into the depths.

When the School got rid of you, they really didn't do it by halves.

He learned that Ari had been in Rapture – the name of this underwater city – for two years already. He had been a normal five-year-old before the white coats at the School had gotten their hooks in him and attempted their first post-natal splicing experiment, hoping to make him half-wolf. It was obvious to Fang the experiment had been a failure, given the man's – well, child's – excessive height, distorted face and fur.

Since Ari had told him his history, the preteen shared his own story to the mutant, mentioning that he had been born in the School and knew nothing else, Jeb's disappearance and his rebellion that got him moved down here. He missed the part about his avian DNA, hoping the mutant wasn't observant enough to have noticed the wingtips his shirt was adequate at hiding.

When push came to shove, Fang needed a surprise. In case ditching this freak was more difficult than he first imagined.

The wolf-kid took a peculiar interest in his carer, Jeb, but other than that he didn't engage in the story, leaving Fang's wings unmentioned. After sharing their particular stories Ari seemed to become a little friendlier, but Fang refused to believe it, feigning familiar-ness without letting his guard down. There was something wrong with this kid; he was either lying, or wasn't right in the head, and being his friend would be the last thing Fang intended to do.

At night, while on watch, Fang would silently run through the different splicers he'd come into contact with since his arrival six months before. It felt like a lot of information to remember, but he had no illusions that the information could one day save his life, and as such reciting their characteristics had become a mantra.

_Houdini_, the name drifted through his head, the word silently formed on his lips as he stared out into the green-hued complex. Behind him Ari was asleep, having already completed his shift for the night. _Have the ability to move around as atoms and use this to startle and sneak up on people. _A small shudder went through his shoulders as he remembered the Houdini splicer he'd met while still clouded with tranquilisers. _Look out for dust-clouds, listen for voices and aim at the origin of fireballs; always be aware of your surroundings._

He sighed, glancing sideways at his sleeping companion. Even in sleep the boy's face was hideous where it should look relaxed. His breathing was raspy and his snores sounded more like growls, a noise that made the hairs on the back of Fang's neck prickle.

_Focus,_ he mentally berated himself, turning his attention back to the room. _Thuggish splicers can still use a melee weapons. Using a ranged weapon or disabling them before moving in for the attack is most effective. _Ari had mentioned that an Electobolt plasmid would be the most effective here; the ability to produce electricity from one's fingertips. After what Ari had told him about ADAM, Fang was very reluctant to get a plasmid, even though the wolf-boy assured him that one plasmid would do little to his DNA.

_Leadhead splicers can still use guns_, he thought, fingering the gun Ari had handed him when they changed shifts. It had taken five months for the wolf-boy to trust him enough to have the gun while he was on lookout. _They're best tackled in the same way as a thuggish splicer, matching with a ranged weapon or disabling before attacking._

He ran a finger along the barrel, wondering why having a gun didn't make him feel safer. _Primitive splicers are splicers that have degenerated so far, their characteristics begin to resemble that of wild monkeys. They can wield melee weapons with little dexterity, but usually travel in packs to increase their chances. Sometimes plasmids they used to use can be expressed in weird ways, such as a burning bite or a small shock upon physical contact, only attempt to tackle them in small groups._

The most recent kind of splicer he'd met was refusing to come to mind. With a sigh he began to run through the others again, his mouth forming silent words while his eyes scoured the shadows. Splicer appearances had increased recently, but there was still only one or two a day. Even the primitive splicers that usually came in packs; an individual had been found last week, his first interaction with them.

While he couldn't tie Ari to it, it all seemed a bit…staged.

Behind him, Ari snorted in his sleep. It was a sign he would be waking up soon and 'night time' would be over. The lights were always on in this place, meaning they usually decided it was 'night time' when they were tired and 'day time' when the last of them awoke, though Ari had a habit of kicking him awake and complaining about how long he'd been asleep.

Fang stopped fingering the gun and let it rest in his lap, knowing the wolf-boy would demand it back when he awoke. Despite how many bodies they had searched since his arrival, they still had a very sad stock of ADAM, so little Ari said it wasn't worth a single plasmid yet. The preteen wondered how much you needed to buy a plasmid, and who Ari was going to give the stock to in his attempts to get it off the street.

When questioned why you got so little ADAM from a splicer, Ari mentioned something called little sisters. Apparently while they themselves could only take excess ADAM a splicer hadn't used yet, a little sister could extract it from a corpse and ingest it, making them an ADAM goldmine. When asked why they didn't approach any little sisters, Ari grunted that it was complicated and dropped the subject, focusing on splicer corpses.

Still unable to remember the last splicer he'd met, Fang instead steeled himself for another day of learning. Since he'd learned the basics Ari practically threw him into the fray against splicers he'd already met, treating him as cannon-fodder. Despite being the one killing the splicers Fang never saw any of the loot, Ari claiming it was both their loot and he'd just carry it.

It had begun to take a lot of restraint not to shoot Ari while he slept.


End file.
